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Introduction
The Plains of Aurelia were once a paradise teeming with fantastic creatures. Then, a thousand years ago, Darness fell. The plain transformed into uninhabitable wasteland fit only for bloodthirsty monsters and the almost-dead. To survive, the inhabitants fled to a central mountain, built a fortress (also called Aurelia) and shut themselves inside. There they have survived - and thrived - ever since through ingenious inventions and the power of steam. But now, Aurelia faces a deadly energy shortage. If the city's boilers fall silent, the lights will go out for good. And this time, there's nowhere else to run. While the High Council squabbles about what to do, one nobleman decides to put the future into the citizens' hands. Map & Overview of City Layout AureliaMAP LaunchWEB.jpg|Map of Aurelia|link=http://www.theatrics.com/aurelia/video/Pdhr Vertex This palace-like collection of buildings, elevated above the top of the mountain directly over the Temple, houses the king’s living quarters and the seat of government. It is accessible by a series of well-guarded stairs, built into the buttresses that suspend it over the Temple mount. Few are allowed to pass here other than the nobility, top members of the Scientific Symposia, and those with special passes for diplomatic purposes. The Vertex is built from granite and obsidian, iron and brass. The interior is plush and comfortable, somewhere between a steampunk (Victorian) home and a high fantasy Minas Tirith-esque palace. The king’s quarters in particular wind up the central tower in a peculiar set of spiraling rooms that feature the most breathtaking, and depressing, views of the Wasteland. No end to them can be seen on that horizon. Temple Mount “The serpent’s temple adorned the very crest of Mount Aurelia. Once a craggy, four-sided peak, it was now a sunken crater. Its sides plunged straight into a plain so caustic, nothing had grown there for centuries, and its peak had been the top of the City in its earliest days. Now, the iron outer hull soared well past it, suspending the Upper Strata and the Vertex above the temple complex on buttresses that ran deep into the crater walls. The edifice that now crowned the mount was a veritable cathedral of death. Its soaring rafters nearly touched the foundation of the Upper Strata. From there, all the way to the foundation, each roof tile and wall panel was fashioned from semi-opaque, crystalline Shadow. Each was the remains of her faithful adherents. For a thousand years, they had ordered their only posthumous remains to be cast in the sacred smelter for the construction of yet another annex. From the outside, the entire complex appeared empty. No windows adorned the Shadow-walls, and over the centuries, patterns of soot—billowing from the lyria pyres that burned night and day—had obscured the figures moving within. Now, only the hypnotic chants of the priests, mingled with the whine of flutes and stirring of the ritual pools, bore witness to the life within. That, and the clack of the Serpent’s scales as she glided over Shadow.” ''- Rise of the Tiger, Chapter 9 In the center of the Temple is a crater (the very top of the mountain) where the Tree of Shakna was once planted. It was stolen off the mount at the Fall of Darkness, before the city was built. A lake is now there, full of monsters who protect the Serpent goddess’s floating throne. '''Stratum of Philosophers' This is the stratum most like Minas Tirith from Lord of the Rings: clean, Romanesque, glittering and (almost) sterile. This is the seat of knowledge and the home of Aurelia’s greatest minds, who are treated with even more deference than her high-born nobility. When I think of this stratum, I think of Raphael’s School of Athens painting. Even in this energy crisis, more light is still allotted to this strata than any below it, so that the greatest minds can continue their work. In addition to laboratories, classrooms, and halls of debate, this strata is home to hot mineral spring baths, the National Museum, and the National Library. Its feel is airy and open. People travel freely with little fear due to an airtight scheme of guards who are also hidden, in order to downplay their presence and elevate the feeling of freedom. Stratum of the First (the nobility) This is the stratum of the wealthy’s sprawling estates, surrounded by high walls and guarded by renn (machinated, genetically altered human guards) and mechanical beasts. Palatial Roman villa-style mansions glow with light, while the rocky land around them is gardened with subterranean plants that thrive in low light conditions, especially a popular moss that glows phosphorescent when stepped upon, thus serving as yet another deterrent to thieves and intruders. The streets are narrow between these high walls, and particularly treacherous after Lampsdim. Think of Parisian gas-lit streets around the turn of the century – that’s how each of these estates would look, decked out with light. Stratum of Technologists This is the strata of tinkering inventors, mad scientists, and anyone who’s got a vision for the next great gadget to improve life inside the city. In all fairness, most of the inhabitants are serious inventors who have patrons (similar to artistic patrons in the Renaissance era) who sponsor their work. The typical technologist attended the Symposia academy but was deemed better suited for practical application of science rather than theoretical debate. You’d think this would be the strata of wonderland-like clutter, workbenches, and foundries. And it is. But they’re all behind closed doors, under lock and key, patrolled by renn ... because scientific intellectual property is gold in Aurelia. It’s a winner-take-all game for whoever reveals a gadget first. Stratum of Merchants This is the bustling stratum of wall-to-wall shops, big and small, bursting at the seams with manufactured goods of all shapes and sizes. If you want a hand-crafted item (pottery, jewelry, etc.) you’ll have to go one stratum down. But here is where the factories’ endless production ends up. Things are a bit more “earthy” down here: brick and bright colors, all bustle and glitter. There’s no granite or archways, but it’s not dirty or dark either. The Middle Class—such as they are—thrive here. Stratum of Crafts & Trades This is similar to the Merchant Stratem, except that it’s lit by the flicker of blacksmiths’ fires and rings with the sound of craftsman’s tools. Slightly more mazelike, and a bit grimier than the Merchants’ Strata, this strata is quite respectable; the mess is merely indicative of the creative work going on inside this honeycomb of alley shops. Different types of trades, too, are grouped in different areas of the strata, making competition fierce for both quality and price. MIDDLE STRATUM This is the stratum where rich meets poor, privilege meets the working class, and plenty meets want. In this open stratum, weekly markets dot the vast Promenade that serves as a kind of “Central Park” for the city. The Grand Canal cuts right through the strata, servicing many docks where goods from the factories below may be carted by automaton up to the upper strata. What artists remain in these troubled times will find a willing audience in this stratum. The public arena is located here. It’s also famous (infamous?) for pickpockets, thieves and beggars whom the City Watch are constantly chasing back down to the lower strata. There is a good deal of open “sky” here, where citizens can see all the way up to the iron hull that covers the city. This stratum alone offers them “breathing room” from the beehive-like architecture of the others. It’s energetic, bright, and expansive. A far cry from what’s about to come below . . . Stratum of Light Industry This is where the real consequences of life in a cramped, enclosed tower become obvious. Factory after factory have grown up over each other, making for crowded, winding streets that are dark, treacherous, and constantly obscured by a veil of soot. Each day the poor line up for work on a cheerless work detail, many covered with drab, heavy shawls to protect themselves from the soot. This may be the stratem of light industry, but its heavy gloom marks the downward spiral from here to the city’s bottom. Stratum of Metals An even darker, heavier, and more unfriendly version of the stratem above, the Stratum of Metals is staffed mostly by brawny male humans, growling renn, and a few stout kiega for good measure. Crowded tenements abound, with only a few flashes of brightness against the dim, ironclad factories that rumble night and day with heavy productions. Stratum of Refineries This gloomiest of strata contains the only entrances to the Netherfrost, the mountain interior where the kiega minegaremite, the city’s primary fuel. It’s as common here to see soot- and garemite-covered figures trudging the streets as anyone else. The darkness gets even heavier here, and the tenements even more desperate. Stratum of Boilers & Pumps The nerve center for the city’s power, this strata is heavily guarded against tinkering by insurgents, disgruntled employees, and the mentally insane. It’s commonly feared that the boilers (at least, those servicing the philosophers and the First!) would be the first target if the poor ever do really rise up in rebellion. Huge tanks and pipe works are the norm in this strata—making it feel more like a metal forest than anything else. Stratum of Waste Management The most unpleasant of strata, this one reeks of filth and rumbles night and day with great machines that compress some waste, turn others into fertilizer for the underground farms, and send some into underground reservoirs where the contents are leeched back into the already-poisoned wasteland beyond. The poorest of the poor are forced to live here. Facilities for the mentally insane and other groups—despised by the philosophers and First, feared by everyone else—are housed here away from the rest of polite society. Distanced from the worst of the smells, the City Watch barracks surround Aurelia’s only exit: the Great Gate that opens, once in a great while, to let an unwanted criminal into the wasteland. Telling Time in Aurelia The Aurelian calendar system strictly follows the Base Eight numeric system, with no deviations for the Base Ten rebellion that briefly shook the mathematics community and left some residual effect. Aurelian years are divided into eight months, which are each divided intoeight weeks and further subdivided into eight days each week -- which are known (unimaginatively) by their number, ie: first, second, third, etc. This means that altogether, an Aurelian year is exactly 512 days long. There is no such thing as a "Leap Year" or months like February (in our world) which account for earth's revolutions around the sun. Aurelians cannot see the sun due to the continual toxic cloudcover of the Wasteland, so notions of "day" and "night" are regulated by the flow of gas in the city's extensive lamp system. In order to keep time accurate, Aurelia employs a select group of scientists who work with Antonius Ironspar (Chief of Public Watch) to ensure the city's fleet of lampies light and extinguish their lamps with mathematical precision. This practice has, however, been somewhat sabotaged by the High Council's energy rations, which demand that lights be lit or extinguished at increasingly odd hours. A typical date in Aurelia might be written like: Day 1st, Week 3rd, Month of Iron, Year 1068 DF Aurelian Numeric System Aurelian mathematicians have long employed a base eight numeric system. Originally the city was designed to comprise eight strata, but overcrowding forced the construction of four more, plus the Vertex (king's home and seat of government). Aurelian money, known as the Aurelian thorn is subdivisible into eight parts, although amounts (such as the 10,000T listed on Julia Ettaine's wanted poster) are sometimes compiled in tens. This quirk of the system is thought to be the result of a brief but ill-fated "mathematical revolution" during the Second Age after Darkfall. Rebel mathematicians attempted to force the city onto a base ten system, possibly during the construction of the tenth stratum. Tradition and convenience won out, however, and Aurelians returned (almost) entirely to their beloved eight. Aurelian Monetary System The primary unit of Aurelian money is the Thorn (abbreviation T, as in 16T), a gold, silver or brass thorn-shaped coin stamped with an image of the city. Very old coins may not have all twelve strata, may be missing the Vertex, etc. -- reflecting the era in which they were made. Forgeries can be detected by weight or by subjecting the various metals to chemical tests. Breakdown One gold thorn = eight silver thorns One silver thorn = eight bronze thorns OR One gold thorn = sixty-four bronze thorns. There is also a unit called the penny which is an almost-worthless brass piece. Pennies are used mostly in the Lower Strata where even one bronze thorn has considerable value. 'Comparisons ' One gold Thorn buys . . . *A five-course meal for four at a fine restaurant including as much wine or drink one can handle *A month's ration of garemite for a Lower Strata flat *A sparrow-sized mechanical bird *Top-to-bottom ransport of three boxes on the Grand Canal *A bottle of sought-after medicine *A pair of tickets to one of the better play- or musichouses *A bolt of saphi (fine shimmery cloth spun from whispy metal threads) *A middle-class garment *A small book (about the size of a human hand), cloth-bound *A months's wage for for a skilled craftsman or a half- week's wage for master craftsmen *Two jyu (ninja star) weapons One silver Thorn buys . . . *Dinner for two in a restaurant of middling repute *A cheaply-fabricated cloak *Half a week's ration of garemite for a Lower Strata flat * A bolt of sturdy but plain cloth *A cupful of lantern oil *A hammer or saw *A child's top-to-bottom passage on the Grand Canal *Five sheets of writing-paper *A valet's or maid's weekly wage in a noble house *The yearly government tax (per citizen) for public upkeep *A pot of ink, equivalent to fifty pages of written text One bronze Thorn buys . . . *Half a week's wage factory worker *Dinner in a Middle Strata pub *An arm's length of ribbon or lace *Six spools of thread *Half a box of nails *Six candles, each as long as a man's fist *A month's worth of the cheap dried lichen for teas, stews and tonics *Top to bottom passage for a sealed letter on the Grand Canal's postal boat *A bundle of clean rags or metal scrap *Entrance to a one-man drama or puppet show *A consultation with an apothecary of average repute Bigger ticket items: A noblewoman's dress can cost in the neighborhood of twenty gold thorns, depending on fabrics, trim and skill of labor. A dagger might cost two or three gold thorns, with a sword or pistol costing upwards of ten. Stand-alone housing (not a tenement building, but not a mansion either) could cost anywhere from five to fifty gold thorns a month in rent, depending on location and ammenities. The wealthiest or most influential people have a personal stipend of hundreds of thorns a month, whereas the poor might be lucky to see a silver thorn in a month's time.